


(i'm not ready) for the weight of us

by kiki_bw



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiki_bw/pseuds/kiki_bw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are whispers in Baekhyun’s mind. Whispers that he always ignores until they drown him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i'm not ready) for the weight of us

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Allusions to depression, hallucinations, character death, gore  
>  **A/N:** Title taken from the song The Weight Of Us by Sanders Bohlke.

Baekhyun stands in front of the mirror, naked, hair sticking on his forehead and body still dripping wet from the shower he’s just had. He swipes a hand across the fogged up mirror and stares at his reflection. Gaunt face with tired dark circles. Dark brown orbs stare at each other, assessing, calculating, wondering.

Unfathoming.

His eyes follow the trail of a drop of water running from his scalp down his forehead, over the bridge of his nose and falling into nothingness. Swiping his hand at the mirror once more, he watches the droplets on his arm run down, chasing each other, or competing, he doesn’t know.

Like so much else in his life, he just doesn’t know.

He looks into his eyes again. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Right?

He smiles tentatively, lips curving into a grin that gradually widens, but his eyes stay the same. Assessing, calculating, wondering. Blank. And now, frightened, because he can see his smile, his skewed smile with its skewed reflection.

His own smile is mocking him through his own reflection. 

_Fake_ , they whisper.

It drops in an instant and Baekhyun moves closer to the mirror, fogging it a little with his breath until he is a comfortable distance away to _really_ look into his eyes. He finds himself in his eyes in the reflection, a Byun Baekhyun staring at a Byun Baekhyun and what he finds and what he sees is so ugly, so repulsive to him that he can’t look anymore.

Because he doesn’t know which Baekhyun sickens him more.

_Of course it’s you. It’s all you._

 

 

 

The soft tinkling of the bell above the door to the café invites him in. The cold seems to have seeped into his bones after the short walk from the apartment, even though he is wearing a warm coat over the sweater he has worn over his shirt, a warm muffler wound around his neck and hands clad with warm gloves.

Warm, to others. To him, everything is always cold. Cold inside and outside. _Queer_ , they whisper. _Strange._

Minseok, the barista, smiles at him as he reaches the counter and Baekhyun’s lips turn into what he hopes looks at least like a smile in a reflex response. Even if it doesn’t, Minseok doesn’t let it show.

“The usual?” he asks.

“Y-yeah,” Baekhyun replies, voice rasping with disuse.

The grimace on his face fails to fall though, as he slides over the money, facial muscles locked in place. Minseok places the tall takeaway cup of tea on the counter.

“Careful, it’s really hot,” he says and Baekhyun can _see_ the steam rising out of the small opening on the lid, but he can’t _feel_ it as he picks up the cup and walks back out with a muttered thanks.

 _Pretence_ , they sneer.

His body rarely feels warmth nowadays and his heart never does. And he doesn’t know why.

_It’s you. It’s all because of you._

 

 

 

He dumps his stuff in his cubicle and marches to the manager’s office, knocking before letting himself in.

“Oh, good, you got my message,” Junmyeon says, glancing up from his laptop.

He shuts it close and stares at Baekhyun, fingers crossed over the glass tabletop. Baekhyun sits in the chair opposite him, resisting the urge to play with his fingers and stares at the perfect triangle of Junmyeon’s purple tie instead, thinking about how well it compliments his light lavender shirt.

Dark against light. A perfect balance of both. A balance that Baekhyun can never hope to attain.

He thinks he can almost hear the whirring of the heater until Junmyeon says,”Your psychological assessment is scheduled for next week.”

“I know. I got the mail.”

There’s a pause and now Baekhyun can almost hear the whirring in Junmyeon’s head as he probably tries to pick up words that he can comfort Baekhyun with.

He knows nothing he says will make Baekhyun feel better or even give him some amount of comfort. 

Baekhyun doesn’t do comfort anymore.

“Baek, I know—“

“I have a lot of work. I should go.”

Baekhyun slide his chair back and gets up with a squeak. He knows he should probably feel bad for snubbing his friend like this, but the thing is, he doesn’t. He just doesn’t _feel_ anymore.

Junmyeon sighs and runs a hand through his blond hair.

“You know we’re all here, right? We’re all your friends, you can talk to us,” he says, as Baekhyun turns on his heels to walk out.

Baekhyun nods stiffly, a conditioned clockwork response. He doesn’t turn around because he knows what he will see in Junmyeon’s eyes.

 _Pitiful_ , they mock.

He hesitates, one hand on the doorknob and the other on his heart. How is it still beating, he doesn’t know.

“I’ll pass the assessment, don’t worry,” he says and steps out, shutting the door behind him without waiting for Junmyeon’s reply.

_Liar. You know that’s not going to happen. Because it’s you._

 

 

 

The fast food restaurant is less crowded than usual, Baekhyun notes as he stands in the takeout line. 

There’re only a couple of people in front of him. Soon enough, it’s his turn and he has no idea what he wants to order. Or what he wants to eat, for that matter. He’d come to this place out of force of habit, his legs walking inside before his mind caught up to him. He isn’t even hungry, not really, because food tastes like cardboard these days and he can’t even bare to push it down his throat.

So when the salesgirl looks at him expectantly, he refrains from biting out _anything_ and instead says, “What do you recommend?”

The grimace is back on his face.

“Well,” the salesgirl replies. “We’re well known for our kimchi spaghetti—“

No, _god no_. _Anything_ but that.

“I’ll have the jajangmyeon,” he interrupts her, sliding his card across the counter.

She looks a little miffed, but mechanically swipes his card and hands him the receipt, while Baekhyun taps his feet anxiously against the tiled floor.

 _Weak_ , they spit out.

He is. He knows that. So so weak, because he can’t even think of his name, let alone his face without—

His vision sways a little, lights burning into his eyes as he blinks them tiredly. He’s tired. He’s just so tired. And he doesn’t really know why.

_You know it’s all you._

 

 

 

Some nights he stays up, curled up in the armchair in the balcony, pretending he sees stars that don’t exist, nursing a bottle of soju until the alcohol makes his brain fuzzy enough to let him fall asleep. Other nights he’s already nursing a headache when he reaches home and when he flops onto the bed without eating what he’s bought, he falls asleep the moment his body hits the mattress.

Today is one of the other nights. The other nights are the ones Baekhyun’s most terrified of, because they’re the loudest then. The whispers.

Either way, Baekhyun functions on very little sleep every day.

No matter how much he tries to not sleep on one of the other nights, he just can’t. Because the whispers make his body and mind tired, so so tired and weary that he feels like he’ll collapse if he doesn’t sleep.

Sometimes, Baekhyun thinks that might be better. At least he’ll be spared from seeing him. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t like it when he sees him, but the aftermath of it petrifies him.

 

_They flop into bed together, legs as entangled as they can be, giggling as they shed their clothes and toss them around. Baekhyun turns so he’s on top, straddling the hips of his very hot and hard boyfriend, who pulls him down for a steamy kiss. It’s tongue and passion, more than anything else, because all the love is in their eyes. They break apart and stare at each other, and Baekhyun thinks he might possibly drown in the depths of his eyes._

_Kyungsoo pushes their lips back together, tongue raking over Baekhyun’s teeth and inside his mouth until he moans filthily. Baekhyun nips at Kyungsoo’s lower lips before licking them soothingly._

_“Me first,” he says, reaching for the lube on the bedside cabinet and pressing the bottle into Kyungsoo’s hands._

_He rocks himself back on the three fingers that are spearing him open and moans, whimpering when Kyungsoo crooks his fingers just right._

_“Ahh—I need you—so bad, Soo—just—“_

_The next thing he knows, he’s riding Kyungsoo’s cock, arching his back, trying to find the perfect spot, relishing the way Kyungsoo groans when he clenches around him tightly. Kyungsoo’s hands are digging into his hips, dragging him back down and thrusting his own hips up, meeting Baekhyun thrust for thrust._

_“Does it feel good?” he grunts amid the lewd noises of skin slapping on skin. “Tell me how good it feels.”_

_All Baekhyun can do is whimper as Kyungsoo’s cock brushes that spot inside him that takes his breath away and then he’s riding him harder and faster because it feels so good, and all he wants to do is—_

_He opens his eyes to look at Kyungsoo and shrieks as rivulets of blood begin flowing down his forehead and over his mangled face, into his mouth that is open in a maniacal grin, but he’s still pistoning his hips. His eyes are devoid of love now, and in the craziness Baekhyun sees in them, he sees himself._

_And Baekhyun is screaming loudly now, sobbing, he wants to stop, to make it all stop, but he can’t because Kyungsoo has still grabbed his hips and the blood is now soaking the pillow, the sheets—_

 

He wakes up buried under the blankets, sweating profusely, tears streaming down his face and mouth open in a scream that dies on his tongue. The sobbing starts almost immediately because it was so real, so real, he’d felt Kyungsoo, he had, he really had, and Kyungsoo was here with him wasn’t he, he had to be, he can’t be—he _can’t be_ —

_Tell him how good it feels Baekhyun. Tell him how happy you are. Tell him how glad you are to get rid of him._

But he isn’t, he isn’t! He suffers through these whispers and voices only so that he can get a glimpse of Kyungsoo again, only so that they can be together, even for a short time, even if he has to wake up screaming and crying and traumatized, but he’ll never call this a nightmare, because it’s not, because it’s _Kyungsoo_ , it’s _him_ , it’s the love of his life, the one he’ll _never_ see again—

A picture of a bloodied face flashes in his mind and he whimpers in fear, shaking his head to throw it out of his brain. It doesn’t go. It never does. He knows it never will.

It had been an accident, a car accident in which he’d survived, but Kyungsoo hadn’t and Baekhyun doesn’t think it’ll ever stop haunting him, Kyungsoo’s body covered in blood and tears as the paramedics had fished them both out of the wreck after a drunk truck-driver had collided against them. Kyungsoo had borne the brunt of the collision and the last thing he’d tried to do was squeeze Baekhyun’s hand that was grabbing his tightly.

All Baekhyun remembers is the slick, gross feeling of blood between their fingers. He doesn’t remember whose it was.

The whispers grow louder, and this is the part that terrifies Baekhyun the most. They revel in his failures, in his faults, in his shortcomings, in _him_ because he’s just a shell of the person he was, lost and aching for closure, but not really, no. Because what is he, who is he without Kyungsoo?

 _Nobody_ , they hiss and spit. _Nothing._

Whispers become voices and Baekhyun can’t block them out even if he covers his ears tightly with his hands. He buries himself under the blankets, but cannot escape the jeers of _liar,nobody,pretentious,fake,worthless,weak_ that mingle with the _whoareyou,whydoyoulive,you’resosick,nobodycares,what’stheuse,youcan’tescapeus_

He grits his teeth, trying to strengthen his mind against the onslaught, but the weak wall crumbles like it’s made of wet sand and they are now mocking and scorning louder.

But what _can_ he do? He had already given his heart away, and now even his mind isn’t his to own.

Baekhyun knows he’s ill. That this isn’t normal. But he can’t bring himself to do anything because this is the only way he can still see Kyungsoo and talk to him. It’s crazy, he knows, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing mattered, or matters, more than Kyungsoo.

He buries his face under a pillow, still crying, praying for the voices to cease as they begin calling Kyungsoo names.

He knows this has to stop. That _he_ has to stop, that he needs help. That he should fight back. That he _has_ to. He can’t live like this anymore.

The contemptuous cacophony only grows louder.


End file.
